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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26075617">To Catch A Serial Killer</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/willowcrowned/pseuds/willowcrowned'>willowcrowned</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Lose All Your Senses [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood &amp; Manga</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - No Dwarf in the Flask, Edward Elric is Elle Woods, F/M, M/M, Maes Hughes Lives, No beta we die like mne, Pining, but only by Al, stupid ideas by brilliant people</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 03:08:01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>18,081</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26075617</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/willowcrowned/pseuds/willowcrowned</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Ed sighs. “Face it, Al. I’m resigned to Roy and Hughes’ mother-henning until they catch this guy.” </p><p>“Or,” Al says, an idea beginning to develop. “we could catch him for them.” He smiles, baring his teeth. “You’ve been searching for a holiday present for the General, right? Why not put a bow on Scar?”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Alphonse Elric/Winry Rockbell, Edward Elric/Roy Mustang</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Lose All Your Senses [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1880170</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>637</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>To Catch A Serial Killer</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This was supposed to be up earlier, but life decided to kick my ass all of a sudden and my lovely beta reader (bless her heart) is Going Through It.</p><p>Shout out to the commenter who reminded me that Al and Hughes would need to talk. It ended up in this work instead of the next one (like I was planning) because I had so much fun with it.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ed had never thought he’d walk through the halls of Central command, brushing elbows with the country’s elite. It’s not that he has any real awe or respect for them, it's more that he has terrible impulse control and Teacher had drilled ‘fuck the military’ so deeply into his head that he’s pretty sure if you cut open his skull you’d see those exact words carved into his brain. The first time he’d seen a Major, he’d ‘accidentally’ punched him in the face.  </p><p>And now Ed is dating a general. Oh how the turntables. </p><p>Ed knocks on the door with the office number Roy had given him. Inside, there’s a flurry of ‘not me’ and ‘it’s your turn now, asshole, I did it last time.’ Finally, a blond woman opens the door, and fixes Ed with a terrifying stare. Ed, long used to Al and Winry’s terrifying stares, doesn’t flinch. The woman tilts her head just slightly in response, and Ed gets the feeling that she approves. </p><p>“I’ve got some notes for Roy,” Ed says. Maybe he should call him Mustang. Or Major General. Or Major General Mustang. Whatever, Ed’s not a part of the military, and he doesn’t do well with authority. Odds are the second he tries to be respectful, he’ll end up calling Roy a bastard. </p><p>“Right,” the woman says. “I’m Major Hawkeye. Please come in.” </p><p>It’s a nice office— decently spacious, with a few large windows. It’s too empty for everyone Roy is in charge of to work there; it’s probably where he sends people to do his bidding from. Besides the blond woman, there’s a small, dark, haired man, fiddling with some sort of electronic, an older man who is looking very intently at some deeply uninteresting looking spreadsheets, and another two men who seemed to be engaged in a very serious game of pencil darts. One of them turns to him. </p><p>“This is the Major General’s piece? Is he even legal?” </p><p>Ed glares at him, channeling his best ‘I have killed a bear with my bare hands, you sorry motherfucker, so you don’t scare me’ look. He’d learned that one from Teacher, only in her case, she actually had killed a bear with her bare hands. He’s just killed a coyote, which sounds much less impressive. </p><p>The man laughs. “Nice to meet you. I’m Breda.” </p><p>“Edward Elric,” Ed says, folding his arms and doing his best to look deeply unimpressed. </p><p>The other man engaged in the game of pencil darts, who had been taking the opportunity to cheat by adding to the scorecard while Breda’s back was turned, perks up. “You from Resembool?” </p><p>Ed blinks. “Yeah?” </p><p>“Oh, wow,” the man says, “I’m Jean Havoc. From Streathem.” </p><p>“Wait,” Ed says, a grin growing on his face involuntarily, “are you the Jean Havoc who burnt down the Reynolds’ barn?” </p><p>“That was an accident!” Jean squawks as the rest of the office turns and looks at him, barring the scary blond lady who has slipped away to talk to Roy. </p><p>Ed sniggers. “Yeah, it’s real easy to get gasoline and water mixed up.” </p><p>“It was midsummer!” Jean justifies. “And I was drunk!” </p><p>“And making out with Kathy Bates,” Ed says, smirking, “and apparently claiming that putting out the bonfire would make it easier for her to sneak away.” </p><p>“This is why everyone hates the Elrics,” Jean says, assuming the air of an innocent victim, “you always have to bring up the past. Besides, <i>you</i> nearly burned down Babcock’s orchard.” </p><p>“Hey!” Ed raises his hands in defense. “That was mostly Winry! <i>I</i> put it out!” </p><p>“No.” Jean smiles, knowing he’s found an edge. “You tried to put it out, flooded the orchard, and then your brother had to get rid of the water before old Babcock found out.” </p><p>“I was seven!” </p><p>“You flooded an orchard when you were seven?” The door to the inner office must have opened while Ed and Jean had been arguing, because Roy is standing in the doorway looking somewhere between horrified and intrigued. </p><p>Ed rolls his eyes. “I also put out Winry’s fire, but no one ever seems to mention that.” </p><p>“Because her fire wouldn’t have even gotten past the second tree!” Jean says. “Besides, you’re famous for managing to escape the guy’s wrath. He didn’t even manage to threaten you with his axe.” </p><p>Roy very much looks like he’s beginning to get a headache. Excellent. Usually Ed has to talk to him for at least a minute for that to happen. He’s ahead of schedule. </p><p>“How do you two know each other?” Roy asks, for some reason deciding on the most boring of all the available questions. </p><p>“Streathem is like half a mile from my hometown. The only reason they’re not the same town is because of the zoning laws passed sixty years ago because the Mayor’s family didn’t want to have to pay the taxes that one big town would have demanded.” </p><p>Jean narrows his eyes. “Godamn Brantons.” </p><p>Ed nods. “Godamn Brantons.” </p><p>Roy looks between them and seems to decide that discretion is the better part of valor. “You said you had the counter for that array for me?” He directs his question to Ed.  </p><p>Ed grins. Roy makes it so easy to overwhelm him. “Yup.” He waves his file folder. “Got them right here. It was a little hard to build the counter without the original, but I think I got it. That’s why it took so long.” </p><p>“It took you three days,” Roy says, like that’s a really short amount of time or something. </p><p>Ed shrugs. “Like I said, I could have had it done sooner if I had the original.” He takes Roy’s hand, drags him into the inner office, and shuts the door. “Lemme take you through the basics.” </p><p>Ed perches himself on the corner of Roy’s desk, and starts spreading out the notes. “Okay, so the reason it took so long—” </p><p>“Three days,” Roy says, jealousy coloring his tone. </p><p>“—is because it’s built for a delayed reaction, which means that I had to mess around with some internal matrices to make sure that you have enough control to keep it up for a while.” Ed frowns. Roy is lucky the array he’d given Ed was interesting or Ed wouldn’t have even bothered, commission be damned. “I can explain it to you, but if you want anyone else to use it, then you’ll have to teach it to them.” </p><p>“I’ll use it,” Roy says, “it’ll be nice to get out anyways.” </p><p>Ed blinks. “What is this for, by the way?” God, Teacher would kill him if she discovered that he hadn’t even asked why he was doing commission work for the military. He’d just assumed that Roy wasn’t going to use it for a super murder machine and then gotten so wrapped up in it that he hadn’t bothered to ask anything else. </p><p>“Rogue alchemist just north of Central,” Roy explains. “He tends to trick people into walking into his arrays. I figured that I had better be able to counter it if I did that.” </p><p>“You were planning to walk into his array?” Ed is somewhere between impressed and horrified. This must be how Al and Winry feel every time he does something stupid. </p><p>Roy gives him a look. “It’s a perfectly viable strategy.” </p><p>“It’s stupid, is what it is,” Ed counters. </p><p>“You’d know.” </p><p>Ed glares at him, opening his mouth to retort. </p><p>“ROY MUSTANG!” The door to the inner office bursts open, revealing a rather tall dark-haired man breathing heavily. “You should have told me he was here!” </p><p>Roy mutters something that sounds like ‘oh for fuck’s sake,’ before saying, “I thought it was your day off, Hughes.” </p><p>Hughes narrows his eyes. “Lucky for me, the girls are out of town, so I could come in today.” </p><p>Ed smiles gleefully at the resigned expression on Roy’s face.  </p><p>“Hi,” he says to Hughes, “I’m Ed. Why does Roy look like someone just stole his favorite coat?” </p><p>“Because he’s a coward,” Hughes says. “Has he really not told you about me?” </p><p>Ed frowns and looks Hughes up and down. “You’re the reason he keeps asking me to sneak in, aren’t you?” </p><p>Hughes smirks, which is all the answer Ed needs. </p><p>“What, so you staked out his home?” Ed is a little impressed. </p><p>Hughes pouts. “Hawkeye wouldn’t let me.” </p><p>“He kept threatening to,” Roy clarifies, hand covering his eyes as if it’ll keep him from having to experience the conversation. “And he probably would have done it even without Hawkeye’s permission if he had to wait much longer.” </p><p>Ed cocks his head, looking at Hughes inquisitively. </p><p>Hughes shrugs. “It’s been three months. A guy gets curious.” </p><p>Ed grins. “So, what’s your deal?” </p><p>“Brigadier General Hughes, at your service.” Hughes offers his hand and Ed takes it. “Pleasure to finally meet you.” </p><p>Roy groans. </p><p>“Oh, quit whining,” Hughes says, “you’re too old to engage in histrionics anymore.” </p><p>Roy glares at him balefully. “I hate you.” </p><p>“No, you don’t,” Hughes says cheerfully, “Now, Ed, since Roy clearly doesn’t love me enough to tell me anything, tell me about yourself.” </p><p>Ed grins. This is going to be so much fun. </p><p> </p><p>“Sorry about earlier,” Roy says, “Hughes is... intense.” He runs his fingers through Ed’s hair absentmindedly. Ed is nestled on his chest, their legs entangled under a pile of blankets to nullify the slight chill from outside that Roy’s heater isn’t able to combat. </p><p>“Are you kidding me?” Ed says. “He was awesome. I’ve never seen you so horrified.” </p><p>“Why does everyone in my life think that engaging in schadenfreude is the height of entertainment?” Roy mutters. He groans. “Wait until he starts talking about his wife and kids. Or shows you pictures.” </p><p>Ed snorts. “Real scary.” </p><p>Roy huffs. “You say that now, but wait until you’re forty-five minutes late for an important meeting and he’s shown you the exact same photo for different times because, and I quote, you ‘clearly didn’t absorb the cuteness the first time.’” </p><p>Ed rolls his eyes. “He was right about the histrionics.” </p><p>Roy glares at Ed before realizing that he can’t see it. “I’m glaring at you right now, just so you know.” </p><p>“I know.” There’s a grin in Ed’s voice. </p><p>Roy lets out a fond huff. “I’ve been using you to distract him from showing pictures for the last two months.” </p><p>Ed snorts. “You’re a class act, Mustang.” </p><p>“People do tend to say that,” Roy says diplomatically, immediately changing the subject before Ed comes up with some more... creative insults and they both get so distracted that neither of them will get enough sleep. “Anyways, what was with you and Havoc earlier? Did you really flood an orchard?” </p><p>“I put out a fire!” </p><p>“Fine, did you really put out a fire by flooding an orchard?”  </p><p>“...yes.” Ed sighs. “Okay, look, Jean is totally exaggerating it. It was, like, a small orchard, and I only covered it in about two feet of water, which is technically flooded, but not really.” </p><p>It probably says a lot about Roy that this is the sort of person he’s attracted to. Hughes has said a lot about Roy re: this being the sort of person he’s attracted to. Fortunately, because Hughes is Hughes, only about 10% was in any way not complete bullshit. “What else?” </p><p>“What do you mean: what else?” Ed asks grumpily. </p><p>“I’m trying to calculate possible property damage if I keep you around.” </p><p>“Are you <i>trying</i> to get me to hit you?” </p><p>Roy snorts. Even if Ed did hit him, he doubts it would hurt that much. Ed isn’t really the sort of person who knows how to throw a punch. “I would never.” </p><p>“That’s a damn lie.” </p><p>Well, yeah, that’s fair. </p><p>Ed shifts, propping himself up on his elbow so he can look at Roy. “Why choose to introduce me now?” </p><p>“Trust me, I did not plan to introduce you to Hughes.” That had been a disaster in the making. He’s been stressing about it for weeks. If Roy had predicted that they’d get along so well, he would have been relieved. What he <i>should</i> have been is terrified out of his damn mind, because both of them have way too much information on him and have almost no problems using it for blackmail. </p><p>Ed grins. “Duh. I’ve never seen you look so scared.” </p><p>“I was not <i>scared</i>,” Roy pouts. Roy Mustang doesn’t get <i>scared</i>. “I was cautiously analytical.” </p><p>Ed snickers. “Uh huh.” </p><p>Roy decides that discretion is the better part of valor and chooses to ignore Ed. “As for the others: they had a betting pool going on who you were and when they’d meet you, and I got Fuery to put money in for me. I just won the pot.” </p><p>“That’s fucked up.” Ed is smirking. </p><p>“You don’t seem to be that upset about it,” Roy points out dryly. </p><p>“Trust me,” Ed says, “I’m not. In my family it’s basically required that you rig betting pools.” </p><p>Roy raises an eyebrow. “You’re very strange.” </p><p>“Pot, meet kettle,” Ed says, grinning. “Besides, it’s not my fault.” </p><p>“You don’t even try to act normal,” Roy points out, perfectly reasonably. </p><p>Ed snorts. “Yeah, the only person in my family who bothers with that is my mom, and it’s because she likes that people can’t pin her down.” </p><p>“Well that’s...” Roy trails off, trying to find the correct word. </p><p>“Yeah,” Ed says, agreeing with whatever he sees in Roy’s face, “she’s awesome. You’ll love her.” </p><p>“Oh,” Roy breathes. Ed wants him to meet his <i>mother. Ed</i> wants <i>him</i> to meet his mother. </p><p>“I mean,” Ed says, furiously backtracking, “like, if she’s ever in town or something and you’re both around, then it’d be cool if—” </p><p>“Yeah,” Roy agrees, “it <i>would</i> be cool.” He smiles gently, just enough to let Ed know that he’s serious. “Besides,” he quips, “It’ll be a good opportunity to figure out how you ended up like <i>this</i>.” He gestures vaguely with the hand that’s not wrapped around Ed. </p><p>“You’re a dick,” Ed says, fitting himself into the curl of Roy’s arm and laying his head down. </p><p>Roy shrugs half-heartedly. Ed isn’t wrong. </p><p> </p><p>“So,” Maes says, adopting his favorite ‘there’s nothing but trouble coming for you’ smirk, “let's talk about Ed.” </p><p>Roy groans, which was the effect Maes had been trying to induce. He has no pity for Roy; this is what happens when you keep things from your best friend. </p><p>“Honestly,” Maes continues, smirk widening, “I think this is a good move for you politically. A little country wife is just what your bad-boy image needs.” </p><p>Roy glares at him. “I can fire you.” </p><p>“But you won’t,” Maes says happily, knowing he has the upper hand. Even if Roy did try (which he wouldn’t; Roy would be lost without him, no matter what he says), Grumman wouldn’t let him. Maes knows far too much to ever be fired; they couldn’t risk him writing an exposé. Which he totally would, if only for the opportunity to dedicate a book to Gracia. Maybe even a marble plinth if he made it big. “Anyways, I was serious. He hasn’t got a record, he can pull off the ‘oh deary me I’m just a harmless, devilishly attractive, politician’s piece’ thing, and him being male is just progressive enough to humanize you for the radical progressives to start not immediately dismissing everything you say as establishment propaganda.” </p><p>“I wasn’t planning to use him for politics,” Roy says. He looks genuinely appalled at the concept. </p><p>Maes pats him on the shoulder comfortingly. Oh, Roy. Always the idealist. “Of course you weren’t <i>planning</i> on it, but he’s stuck with you, and you’re a politician. He’s bound to get involved anyways.” He frowns, pretending to consider something seriously. “Do you think we could get him into something white and lacy— like sort of a delicate virginal look? Obviously dresses are out— we can’t go that progressive if you don’t want to totally isolate your center-right support base— but maybe a nice blouse.” </p><p>“I hate you,” Roy says on reflex, but when Maes looks over, he has the distant look in his eyes that means he’s imagining it and he likes what he sees. </p><p>“Oh my god,” Maes cackles gleefully. “You’re seriously considering it.” </p><p>“I am <i>not</i>!” Roy protests, fooling no one except himself. “I am just—” He glares at Maes “—considering the aesthetic possibilities.” </p><p>“I’m going to tell him you said that,” Maes says, “and then he’s going to hold it over your head forever.” </p><p>“You wouldn’t,” Roy says, aghast.  </p><p>Maes snorts. Roy knows him well enough to know that he really, really, would.  </p><p>“You don’t have his phone number,” Roy says, clearly grasping at straws. </p><p>“I do, actually,” Maes smirks, “he gave it to me while you were silently pleading with Hawkeye to kill you right then.” </p><p>“I am going to kill you,” Roy says, “and they will find your body in a canal days later, and it will never be traced back to me.” </p><p>Maes pouts. “Gracia wouldn’t let you.” </p><p>“Yes, I would.” Gracia doesn’t look up from where she’s curled up on the other couch, apparently absorbed in a novel.  </p><p>“But darling...” Maes whines. </p><p>“You’re being rude,” she says, still reading. She’s such a talented multi-tasker, and so beautiful too. The afternoon light is turning her hair into a sparkling halo around her head, and her eyes are glowing in the light. He’s so lucky to have her. “Maes, dear,” she looks up, a half-smile on her lips as she sees his (undoubtedly doofy and lovestruck) expression, “I believe you have a serial killer to update Roy on?” </p><p>Roy sends her a grateful look. “Purportedly,” he says, “though I’m beginning to think I was lured here under false pretenses.” </p><p>Maes shrugs, unashamed. “Only mostly false. I do actually have new information, I just could have told you earlier.” </p><p>Roy gives him a flat look. “Well?” </p><p>“Touchy,” Maes comments. Then, more seriously, “He’s coming to Central. He’s been moving west; the last three killings have been along the train route from East City.” </p><p>“And you still don’t have any new leads?” </p><p>Maes winces. “No.” Everyone has been hounding him about it, but what is he supposed to do? Just <i>find</i> him and ask ‘hello, sir, can you give me your name, latest address, and motivation?’ His job is a little harder than that.  </p><p>Roy frowns. “And if he gets to Central? What’s the plan?” </p><p>“Well,” Maes says, scooting backwards as unobtrusively as he can manage (it’s never a bad idea to be as out of range of Roy’s ire as he can when he delivers bad news, which, come to think of it, he does a lot. Maybe he <i>should</i> quit and write that exposé. He’d have less pissed-off alchemists to deal with, at least), “he does seem to be targeting State Alchemists, especially ones who served during the Ishvalan war.” </p><p>Roy narrows his eyes. “Where are you going with this, Hughes?” </p><p>Hughes sighs, praying that he’ll be able to get Hawkeye to talk some sense into Roy before he tries to throttle him. “I’m just saying... guards wouldn’t be a bad idea.” </p><p>“No.” Roy gives him a stubborn look. “Absolutely not. They wouldn’t help, they’re annoying, and I don’t need them.” </p><p>“Not just for you!” Maes says. “For all the State Alchemists who might be in danger, and any ones who served during the war. Besides,” he mumbles, “you’re useless in the rain.” </p><p>Roy glowers at him. “I’m still a decent shot.” </p><p>“I know!” Maes really, really, hopes he can win this argument, because otherwise Hawkeye is going to be mad that she had to do his dirty work for him. Also because Roy will give him the silent treatment if he’s forced into it anyways, and Maes needs to be able to talk to him so he can torture him for keeping Ed a secret for so long. (Which is so unfair. Ed is a delight. He can’t wait to conspire with him.) “But we need you around. It can’t hurt to have some insurance.” </p><p>Roy glares at him a moment more before relenting. “You know Ed is going to be pissed about this,” he sighs.  </p><p>“Speaking of,” Maes says, swallowing anxiously. “Three of the six killings in the past month happened because he used his target’s friends or family to lure them out. So...” </p><p>“He’s going to end me,” Roy says faintly, “he is going to kill me and then figure out human transmutation so he can resurrect me just so he can kill me again.” </p><p>“It <i>is</i> possible that he won’t end up coming here,” Maes suggests, but he doesn’t really believe it. </p><p>Roy sighs. “I should have been a poet instead.” </p><p>“You absolutely should not have,” Gracia says, still perched on the far couch, eyes scanning the page. “You have an awful grasp of meter.” </p><p>Maes snorts. His wife is the best. </p><p> </p><p>“No!” Jean hears coming from the inside of the General’s office. The door is closed and he has his hands over his ears, but he can still hear Ed yelling. “No fucking way!” </p><p>Jean hears a quiet murmur that must be the General talking at a normal volume, and groans. Why did he have to do this here, instead of at his house where Jean wouldn’t have to worry about Ed destroying half the building in anger? </p><p>Breda has been snickering on and off for the past minute and a half, looking between Jean’s miserable expression and the General’s closed door. Hawkeye, Fuery, and Falman are all pretending to work quietly while they absolutely do not in any way whatsoever listen in. </p><p>“Alright,” Breda says as Ed’s shouting makes way to Mustang’s murmur, “odds on who wins if it comes to a fight? We’ll keep it in the pot if it doesn’t.” </p><p>Hawkeye raises her eyebrow, frowns, and then sighs.  </p><p>“That’ll be a thousand cenz in for you, then, Colonel?” </p><p>She gives him a look, pulling the money out of her pocket and sliding it across her desk.  </p><p>“My money is on the General,” Fuery says, tossing Breda a handful of crumpled bills </p><p>“Mine as well,” adds Falman, pulling out his wallet. </p><p>“So’s mine,” Breda says, “which leaves Havoc and the Colonel.” </p><p>“Ed,” Jean says. Sure, the General is a damn good alchemist, a decent shot, and not awful at hand to hand, but Ed has him beat in two of those categories, and he wouldn’t risk shooting Ed. At least, not when the whole argument is about trying to keep Ed from getting hurt. </p><p>(Several years ago, when Jean was visiting home for the winter holidays, he saw the Elrics and Winry sparring with a scary looking dark-haired lady. He honestly thinks he has never been more scared. He’s in the army, for fuck’s sake, it’s not like he’s not used to be around highly-trained fighters, but the Elrics (and Winry Rockbell) are a league above anything he’s ever seen.) </p><p>Breda raises his eyebrows, but doesn’t say anything. “And you, Colonel?” </p><p>“Edward,” she says simply. </p><p>Breda, Falman, and Fuery groan. Hawkeye has never lost a bet where Mustang is involved. </p><p>“Can I—” Fuery starts to ask, but Hawkeye silences him with a look. </p><p>“No changing bets to copy me.” </p><p>Breda pats him on the back conciliatorily. “It might not even come to a fight.” </p><p>“Get back to work,” Hawkeye says, like she hadn’t just been involved in the betting as well. Jean peeks over at her desk. Never mind, somehow she managed to fill out three forms in the time that the rest of them were listening to the argument. </p><p>Ed’s voice rises once again. “Seriously? What the fuck, Mustang! I’m not some sort of damsel in fucking distress!” </p><p>“Why do it here?” Jean idly wonders. </p><p>Falman looks up at him. “You hadn’t heard? There’s already been one killing since Scar got to Central. I imagine Brigadier General Hughes forced him into it.” </p><p>“They found a name for him?” </p><p>Falman nods. “He was sighted this morning as he left the scene. White hair, dark skin, a little over six feet tall with a large scar in the shape of an ‘x’ on his forehead.” </p><p>Hawkeye looks up at that. “He’s Ishvalan, then?” </p><p>“At least partly,” Falman confirms. “He’s always in sunglasses, so no one has been able to get a good look at his eyes.” </p><p>“Well that explains the alchemist thing,” Jean says, then winces. They had all been thinking it, but he still probably shouldn’t have said it. </p><p>An uncertain quiet falls over the office, punctuated by the sound of Mustang’s voice and Ed’s frequent interruptions. </p><p>“Get back to work,” Hawkeye orders again. This time, they listen. </p><p>The yelling quiets, and Ed walks out a few minutes later, annoyed and disgruntled, but with his mussed in a way that means that he and the General were making out for at least a portion of the silence. Jean tries to keep from making a face. Ew. </p><p>Ed smirks at Jean as he walks by, a twinkle in his eye, and Jean remembers the rumors that Ed once took down a crime ring in Dublith all by himself. Shit. </p><p>He waits two minutes after Ed has left, then makes some excuse about the bathroom, sprinting once he’s out of the door. He finds Ed in the courtyard, and breathes a sigh of relief that he hasn’t left yet. </p><p>“Hey,” Jean says, pulling Ed aside, “you’re not going to try anything stupid with Scar, right?” </p><p>Ed blinks, offended. “No.” </p><p>“Okay,” Jean says, “because I know what you can do. I saw you and your brother sparring once.” Jean shivers. “And I’ve heard about that whole vigilante thing you did in Dublith.” </p><p>“That was exaggerated,” Ed says. “All I did was punch a couple guys. Have you told Roy?” </p><p>Jean shakes his head frantically. “No way, I’m too scared of you both to get in the middle of this. I just don’t want you to go running after Scar and for the General to freak out. He gets... intense when he freaks out.” </p><p>“Good,” Ed says. “Don’t say anything.” </p><p>Jean frowns, thinking. “Actually, why haven’t you told him? Don’t you think it would make him feel better about the whole ‘guards’ thing?” </p><p>“No way,” Ed says. “He’d freak out, and probably wouldn’t even believe me to begin with. I’m not gonna have that argument if I can help it.” </p><p>Jean grimaces. He meant what he said; no way is he getting in the middle of the two of them. He might actually die. “Fine. Be careful.” </p><p>“I always am,” Ed says. </p><p>Somehow, that doesn’t make Jean feel any better. </p><p> </p><p>Ed hates his guards. </p><p>Okay, that’s not fair. He hates the fact that he <i>has</i> guards, not the guards themselves. Ross and Brosch are actually pretty nice, and he always has at least one of them. Still, it’s weird to go grocery shopping or to the library with an armed guard behind him. It’s even weirder because most of his experiences with having an armed guard have ended with him punching his way out and Al going back to bribe everyone into forgetting that anything happened. He keeps turning around, seeing a uniform (sans Roy in it), and getting ready to throw a punch. </p><p>(He wouldn’t even <i>have</i> guards if he had held out with Roy, but Roy had done this thing where his voice had gone soft and raw and his eyes had gone wide and he’d said, ‘Please, Ed, I just don’t want to lose you,’ and Ed had crumpled.) </p><p>And it’s not like they’re even protecting him anyways! He always keeps a marker and a grease pencil in his pocket in case of emergencies, and even without alchemy, he could probably beat both of them at the same time. If Scar really does try to kidnap him (and he’s pretty skeptical about that possibility; Roy hasn’t revealed that they’re together to the public so he can continue going on not-dates as a cover, so Scar should have no reason to guess at their relationship unless Hughes or someone from Roy’s inner circle spills the details), then his guards aren’t going to a damn thing that Ed can’t do himself, and they might even do something stupid like try and sacrifice themselves for him. </p><p>Not that Roy would have even listened if Ed had told him he was capable of protecting himself. Roy probably wouldn’t believe it unless he showed him (in detail, several times), and Ed is pretty sure no soldier in Central is willing to volunteer to try to fight their boss’s boyfriend, especially when their boss is the Flame Alchemist and his boyfriend looks like he’s skating the edge between twink and twunk. </p><p>Ed looks between the two guards behind him (it’s a Monday morning, so it’s Brosch and Ross together, which is nice), thinks about all the shopping he’s going to have to get done— the holidays are coming up and he doesn’t even have a gift for Al, let alone for Roy or Winry— and how freaking long it’s going to take if he has them trailing after him, and resolves to ditch them at the first possible opportunity. </p><p>Roy might be pissed (Roy will definitely be pissed), but it’ll be worth it for a few hours to himself outside. Hey, maybe he’ll even be able to grab lunch at a café without people giving him dirty and/or suspicious looks. That’s worth a little yelling. </p><p> </p><p>“This is killing me,” Ed complains, shutting the door and flopping onto their couch.  </p><p>“As much as Scar?” Al asks rhetorically. He’s trying to be sensitive, but this is the third day this week that Ed has walked in the door and immediately started complaining about the guards that Mustang has on him. </p><p>“More than Scar,” Ed huffs. “Do you know that every single person he’s gone after has had their guards killed? I’m putting them in danger!” </p><p>“Is that why you dodged them last week?” Al’s tone is mild and disinterested. He already knows why Ed dodged them: he was antsy and bored, and hated the attention they brought him. According to Ed, Mustang and his friend— Hughes, Al recalls— had freaked out about it. Al is less worried about Ed dodging them. Ed could take on ten armed guards and still come out on top. If two guards could stop Scar, then Ed certainly could. As it is, they can’t, and so it doesn’t matter if Ed dodges them. Except, apparently, to Ed’s lover and lover’s best friend. It’s almost cute. </p><p>Ed groans. “Everyone thinks it was an accident! Roy was freaking out so badly that he grabbed me when I walked in the door and didn’t let go for an hour— he wasn’t even angry, because he thought it wasn’t my fault! And my guards fucking <i>apologized</i> for losing me, like it was some fucking mistake that they turned around and I was gone. How could it be a mistake? I literally shoved a family between us, doubled back, and climbed onto a roof.” </p><p>“Did they see you climb onto the roof?” Al asks, mildly curious. </p><p>Ed rolls his eyes. “Obviously not. Do I look incompetent?” </p><p>“Well then that’s why they thought it was an accident.” Al shrugs. “If the guards bother you that much, you could always tell them that you can take care of yourself.” </p><p>“I can’t.” </p><p>“Well, you can either tell him the truth,” Al says, glaring at Ed to make sure that he understands that this is the best and most logical route and Al is most certainly not just suggesting it because he’s tired of hearing Ed complain, “or you can deal with your guard.” </p><p>Ed glares at him. </p><p>“Maybe telling him wouldn’t be so bad,” Al suggests. It probably wouldn’t be. From what he’s heard, Mustang has a tendency to hang around very dangerous people. He’d probably be overjoyed that Ed isn’t the only one of his friends who can’t take out an armed guard. </p><p>“He wouldn’t believe me,” Ed says morosely. </p><p>Al pauses, considering his brother’s words. “That is... a shockingly valid point. You could prove it to him?” </p><p>“How?” Ed sounds miserable. “Take him to a cage match? Offer to fight him hand to hand?” He sighs. “The first would get him killed if he got recognized, and he wouldn’t even consider the second. Fucking pansy ass motherfucking...” Ed devolves into swearing. </p><p>“Well,” Al says, resigned to having to listen to Ed’s complaints until the whole thing dies down, “you could always keep dodging them.” </p><p>“They got in trouble last time I lost them,” Ed frowns, “I think Roy sicced Hawkeye on them for it.” </p><p>“Hm,” Al says. He’s not sure who Hawkeye is, but even Ed seems intimidated by her, which means that she’s probably terrifying to the average citizen. “Maybe you should have dated Winry.” Al definitely doesn’t mean that (and he will <i>not</i> be examining why, thank you very much), but he’s not <i>wrong</i>. </p><p>“Yeah, I’m sure mom would love that we burned down half of Resembool with our first fight.” He sighs. “Face it, Al. I’m resigned to Roy and Hughes’ mother-henning until they catch this guy.” </p><p>“Or,” Al says, an idea beginning to develop. “we could catch him for them.” He smiles, showing his teeth. “You’ve been searching for a holiday present for the General, right? Why not put a bow on Scar?”  </p><p>Ed grins. “I love you.” </p><p> </p><p>Ed picks Winry up from the train station. He’d told her he would, of course, but it’s a 50-50 chance that he forgets because he gets distracted at the last second, so it’s a nice surprise when he shows up. It’s a less nice surprise that he’s flanked by two military officers. </p><p>“Ed,” Winry says, narrowing her eyes, “please tell me that you didn’t get arrested for arson again.” </p><p>The two military officers seem shocked at that, so Winry loosens the hold on the wrench in her coat pocket. Thank goodness. She’s always prepared to bust Ed out of custody, but Al is finishing up his exams right now and she doesn’t want to bother him with figuring out the right people to bribe to forget it ever happened. </p><p>“No, unfortunately,” Ed says, sighing. He looks to the guards, “Alright, I’ve had a good life guys. Don’t hurt Winry when she kills me for this.” </p><p>Winry frowns. “What. did. you. do.” </p><p>“It’s less a what, and more a who,” Ed responds. </p><p>One of the officers behind him— the woman with the mole under her left eye— makes a choking sound. </p><p>Winry reaches for her wrench. “Did you piss off a foreign emissary again?” </p><p>This time it’s the sandy haired man who chokes. </p><p>“What? No!” Ed yelps. “It’s just a serial killer.” </p><p>Winry frowns. “Why are they after you?” </p><p>“He’s not,” Ed says, “I didn’t actually do anything this time!” </p><p>Winry snorts. Ed has never not done something in his life. </p><p>“Seriously! He’s after my, uh, boyfriend?” </p><p>“Boyfriend,” Winry says flatly.  </p><p>“Boyfriend,” Ed repeats, “who might be Roy Mustang.” </p><p>“You slept with Mustang?!” Winry screeches, drawing the attention of everyone around them. </p><p>Ed winces, rubbing preemptively at the spot on his head that she usually hits. Hm. If he’s getting used to it, she’ll have to change it up.  </p><p>“Can we go? I promise I’ll explain later.” </p><p>“Hmph,” Winry says, dumping her suitcase full of automail into his arms, “You just want Al there to defend you.” </p><p>“When has Al ever defended me?” Ed complains, turning around and heading towards the exit. </p><p>That’s actually a fair point, Winry thinks. At least, Al hasn’t ever defended Ed against her. Which makes sense, because Al is smart and her attacks are (almost) always warranted.  </p><p> </p><p>Ed watches as Winry launches herself at Al and Al catches her, spinning her around in a hug. </p><p>“Winry!” Al is grinning like an idiot. “You’re here!” </p><p>Winry nods. “And not a moment too soon, apparently. Why did Ed have to go and sleep with <i>Mustang</i>?” </p><p>Al sends her a commiserating glance, which: <i>rude</i>. “I’m not sure.” That’s Al-speak for ‘because he’s an idiot with terrible taste.’ </p><p>Ed flips them off. “You suck.” </p><p>“Not as much as you,” Winry retorts. “Does Mrs. Curtis know?” </p><p>Ed blanches. “No, and no one is telling her unless you want to pay for my hospital bills.” </p><p>Winry snorts. “Your funeral bills, more like. Seriously, why did you sleep with him?” </p><p>“Because Ed was horny and a bit drunk, and he was hot,” Al supplies. </p><p>Both Winry and Ed glare at him. Cool. For once, Winry is on his side. </p><p>“But why did he <i>keep</i> sleeping with him?” Winry asks Al. Never mind, Winry isn’t on his side. Seriously. Ed is standing <i>right there</i>. She doesn’t have to ask his brother. </p><p>“Rare books,” Al says, “and good sex. And apparently Ed has a thing for people who drive him nuts.” </p><p>“I do not!” Ed lies. Okay, so Roy drives him nuts. Whatever. It would be boring if they didn’t bicker all the time. They’d have to, like, talk about the weather. </p><p>“Hm,” Winry says, like that explains everything, which it doesn’t. Ed hates his friends. “So, what’s the problem?” </p><p>Ed and Al frown. “What problem?” </p><p>Winry huffs. “You two never invite me to visit unless there’s a problem, so what is it?” </p><p>“Oh,” Al says, looking embarrassed, “well, it’s not so much a problem as a plan? Scheme? Idea?” </p><p>Winry frowns. “I’m not going to like this, am I?” </p><p>Ed grins. “Actually, Win, I think you will. It’s for the good of the people.” </p><p>Al rolls his eyes. “We’re going to catch a serial killer for Ed’s holiday present to his boyfriend.” </p><p>“Okay,” Winry says. Ed watches her face go through a series of very distinct expressions very quickly. “I think we should use Market Square. It’s big, and we can put some subtle arrays in through the brickwork. They’re already in odd patterns, so we can afford to mess around without Scar— we’re going for Scar, right?— catching on.” </p><p>“Winry,” Ed says, “you’re terrifying.” </p><p>Al doesn’t agree out loud, but he does look at Winry with wonder, fear, and love. And then he blushes, and Ed resolves not to mention it until Winry is out of the room. He’s not a monster, after all. He won’t exploit his brother’s weakness immediately. He’ll spring it on him when he’s least expecting it. Revenge, bitch. See if you want to speculate about Ed giving Roy blowjobs in his office now, asshole. </p><p>Winry shrugs. “I’m a bit rusty anyways, and I’m not looking forward to Mrs. Curtis beating me up over the holidays. I want to at least put up a little bit of a fight. This should be good practice.” </p><p>Ed and Al look at each other. Damn, Ed hadn’t even thought of that. Winry is right, though. Teacher will beat them up the first chance she gets, and she’ll be disappointed if they can’t hold out for at least five minutes.  (Well, Winry gets three minutes, but Teacher was never officially her teacher, and she only studied in the summers anyways, so she gets a little bit of a break. For whatever given value ‘break’ has when applied to their teacher.) Ed and Al spar every morning, obviously, but they know each other too well for it to be real practice, since they can pretty reliably predict the other’s moves. </p><p>There’s a knock at the door. </p><p>“Come in,” Ed yells, knowing who it is.  </p><p>Jean opens the door, file folder in hand, and steps in. “Hey Ed, Al.” He pauses, blinking. “Winry Rockbell?” </p><p>“Yes?” Winry asks, looking at Jean like she almost recognizes him. </p><p>“Jean Havoc,” Jean supplies. </p><p>“Oh!” Winry face breaks with understanding. “You burned down the Reynolds’ barn!” </p><p>Jean groans. “No one is ever going to let me forget that, will they?” </p><p>“Nope,” Ed, Al, and Winry all say at the same time. </p><p>“What are you doing here?” Winry asks. </p><p>“I work for the Major General,” Jean says. </p><p>Winry frowns.  </p><p>“Hey!” Jean yelps. “Don’t give me that look! He’s a good guy, okay? Besides,” he mutters, “my mom already lectures me about it every chance she gets.” </p><p>“Hm,” Winry says, though she doesn’t sound convinced.  </p><p>“Jean is helping us out,” Al says. “He’s agreed to supply us with Investigations’ file on Scar.” </p><p>“Do I want to know why I’m giving this to you?” Jean asks, looking dubiously at the file as he sets it down in front of them.  </p><p>Ed snorts. “Do you think you can lie to Hawkeye?” </p><p>Jean pales. “Don’t tell me anything, please.” </p><p>“Easy,” Ed says, “though you should probably head out, then.” </p><p>Jean sighs. “At least tell me that what you’re planning isn’t stupid.” </p><p>Ed makes a so-so sign with his hands.  </p><p>Jean sighs again. “Yeah, I thought so.” He groans. “The chief is gonna kill me when he finds out.” </p><p>“So don’t let him find out,” Al suggests, smiling sweetly in a way that’s meant to terrify whoever it’s aimed at. Ed loves his little brother.  </p><p>“I’ll try,” Jean huffs, “but you guys should probably do whatever you’re planning quick. They won’t notice that the file is gone— it’s an extra of the one they’re handing out to everyone investigating— but the General and Hughes are planning something, and Hawkeye isn’t happy about it.” </p><p>“Always try to avoid pissing off Hawkeye?” Ed offers. </p><p>Jean grimaces. “Exactly.” </p><p>“Good luck.” Ed says. <i>You’ll need it</i>, he thinks. </p><p>Jean seems to get the message, and gives him a messy half salute on the way out. “Thanks.” </p><p> </p><p>Jean Havoc, despite what everyone says about him, is not a stupid man. He does stupid things, like flirt with people’s fiancées by accident, or forget that alcohol is flammable, or tell Hawkeye that she needs to smoke some weed before she has an aneurysm, but he’s not <i>stupid</i>, okay? He might not have a PhD, but he’s a good judge of character. It’s why he had agreed to work for Mustang in the first place, and then kept working for him when he realized that Mustang could and would charm his girlfriends away from him. He knows Mustang is a good guy underneath all the pretend smarminess and laziness and downright obnoxiousness; he also knows that Mustang, despite being a good guy, is freaking terrifying. </p><p>But he has nothing on the Elrics. </p><p>You don’t grow up near Resembool and <i>not</i> have a healthy fear of them (and it is healthy, because anyone who gets involved with them has to be as crazy as they are to make it out untraumatized). It’s not even the alchemy, or the weird combat proficiency— those are just the latest generation— it’s the fact that they can and will destroy you.  </p><p>Trisha Elric was famed for being a heartbreaker in high school. She somehow managed to get all the awkwardness out of the way early, so while her peers were stumbling around with faces covered in acne and limbs too long for their bodies, she was already floating around with grace, refinement, and a sweet smile that concealed untold horrors. The year she entered the eighth grade, the population of bullies in the joint Resembool-Streathem school dropped to zero. Coincidentally, all of those bullies were, at one point, cornered in the miserable excuse for a school library by Trisha Elric. They also, coincidentally, still paled whenever her name was brought up, even thirty years later. </p><p>There’s a reason ‘Don’t fuck with the Elrics’ is basically the town motto, and it’s not just  because Edward kept getting banned from eating contests. </p><p>So, yeah, sure, stealing classified documents from Command was a terrible idea, but Jean isn’t about to argue with an Elric, especially when they might be the only people to be able to stop whatever Mustang’s stupid plan is. (And it has to be really stupid, because even Hughes had looked upset about it when he, Mustang, and Hawkeye had walked out of the inner office.) Besides, he’d much rather be barbecued by Mustang than dragged in front of Alphonse Elric and made to face all his worst fears. Knowing the family, Al might even be able to bring in every single ex-girlfriend of his and make him talk to them face to face. Thanks, but no thanks. He’ll die before that happens. </p><p> </p><p>The file on Scar is surprisingly informative. Not because of the actual information, which is just a description and motive, but because of the photos someone snagged of his arm a few days ago. Hand-to-hand they can handle, but they’ll need to be able to counter the alchemy if they don’t want to get turned into toast. </p><p>Winry is sitting back, watching Al and Ed develop a counter-array while she fuses and unfuses metals to make new and different alloys. </p><p>She’s a decent alchemist, probably, though compared with Al and Ed she may as well still be stuck with copied arrays out of learner’s books. She knows enough to make parts out of scrap metal— she’s always had a talent for reconstruction, it’s the chemical reactions that are her downfall— and she’s decent when it comes to a few combat arrays, but she’s useless with complex theory. They’ll make the counter array and show her how it works, and then she’ll use it.  </p><p>The plan is to break the array on his arm by slashing through one of the important parts. Unfortunately, he’s reportedly quick enough that it’s going to be a bitch to do it unless they can exhaust and trap him first. The trapping is the hardest part. His array is made to destroy everything, which means that they’re pretty much screwed. Their only saving grace is the fact that he’ll have to know at least a bit about what he’s deconstructing first; the array is complicated enough to be able to do most of the work for him, but he’ll have to have some idea of the base elements involved.  </p><p>It was Winry’s idea to make an alloy. She’s got a bunch of scrap metal in her automail suitcase because she’d been planning to make some new parts while she was visiting, but she can use it to make something new, difficult to break, and weird enough that Scar won’t be able to figure out its main components on sight.  </p><p>She looks up as Al makes a note, pulling a sheet near Ed closer to him. He’s gotten taller in the past few months, somehow, even though he should have stopped growing years ago. Or, no, he’s not taller, but he’s adopted this way of holding himself with his shoulders squared and back straight that makes him <i>look</i> taller. He’s always had good posture, Winry remembers, even when he was eight. He’d become obsessed with it after taking a ballet class with her— shoulders back, neck long, core tight. It had been cute then, but now, years later, it’s doing strange things to the lines of his jaw and the tight muscle of his shoulders. </p><p>Winry blinks. She’s staring. Oh, mother of all that is holy, she’s staring at <i>Al</i>. It’s <i>Al</i>, he’s supposed to be cute and delicate and not, well, <i>handsome</i>. And he <i>is</i> handsome, not pretty or beautiful the way Ed is, with sharp angles and delicate lines just like his mother, but solid, steady, real.  </p><p>Winry looks back down at her new alloy, separates the components, and then looks back up at Al. His jaw is still distracting, and so are his shoulders, and so are his hands. </p><p><i>Motherfucker</i>, she thinks. <i>What a time to get a crush.</i></p><p> </p><p>Hawkeye is mad at him. This is new. </p><p>He’s used to her exasperation, her frustration, her endless silent commentary in meetings that runs along the lines of ‘I wish this were a problem I could shoot at.’ Her anger is not something he’s used to. It’s not something he’s felt except the once, back in Ishval, when she watched him use her father’s alchemy— her gift— to burn an entire town to the ground. Roy really, really, doesn’t want to think about what it means that this is evoking a similar level of emotion in her. </p><p>Hawkeye, when she’s angry, goes icy cold. She hasn’t spoken to him or Maes since the briefing, which has been about as rough on him as she intended it to be. They work through lunch together, usually, ordering food and eating it in his office in companionable silence, and after a particularly long day, once everyone else is gone, she’ll come into his office and they’ll break out the bottle of scotch he keeps in his desk for days exactly like that, and they’ll drink enough that she’ll let herself laugh, unfettered, and he’ll let himself smile a real smile at her instead of a ridiculous smirk. </p><p>He’s had a lot of long days lately. Needless to say, she hasn’t had a drink with him once. </p><p>She’s probably in the right. (She’s definitely in the right.) This is one of his riskiest and most ill-thought-out plans to date. Normally, he wouldn’t even consider something so stupid. Normally, however, he doesn’t have to consider other factors. </p><p>Scar is narrowing in on him. The information hasn’t been released to the public yet— no crime scene photos, no interviews, no nothing (Roy will give Hughes this: when he doesn’t want something to get out, <i>nothing</i> gets out)—and Roy hasn’t told Ed, so Ed has no idea, but the last three killings were all people Roy worked with directly in Ishval. Intentional or not, there’s a message there: you are next. </p><p>Scar doesn’t kill civilians, not when he can help it, but he apparently has no problems kidnapping them to lure people out, or killing them when they interfere. It is, of course, possible that Scar will go after Hughes or Hawkeye instead— he has a bit of a score to settle with both of them too— but if he’s going for Roy, then he’s not going to choose highly decorated soldiers as bait, he’s going to go for the guy who’s familiarity with combat starts and ends with pushing other kids on the playground. And Ed, god help him, has never ‘not interfered’ in his life. If Roy doesn’t do something fast, Ed is going to get himself killed. </p><p>Hence what Maes has dubbed ‘the stupid plan of all stupid plans’ and ‘literally Roy’s worst idea ever’ and ‘suicide with a side of martyrdom, you absolute fool.’ Maes is, unfortunately, completely right. But if he doesn’t try it, then Ed dies, and Scar will probably kill Roy anyways. </p><p>He’s going to lure Scar out with himself as bait, and hope that he can get to Scar before Scar gets to him. It is definitely his worst plan ever. It’s also rapidly becoming his only option. </p><p> </p><p>Now that she’s noticed how handsome (and strong, too, with wide, warm, hands and a smile that looks like a million watts) Al is, it’s impossible to stop. She’s walked in on him three times tonight studying for his last exam, and each time she’s gotten distracted by the way he chews on his lip as he reviews his notes, or the way his nose scrunches up when he misremembers something, or the way the light falls on his hands as he turns the page. Ugh, it’s like she’s twelve again and Tommy Breckner is sitting right in front of her and she can’t look away. </p><p>“Winry?” Al looks up, blinking at her with honey-gold eyes. Have they always been that color? <i>Yes</i>, she thinks, remembering him staring up at her with the same expression when she was sixteen, and how she had felt mired there, like she was drowning, until he looked away. It’s exactly how she feels now, which is... interesting. She’s going to have to think about that later. “Is everything alright?” </p><p>“Yup!” She says, too brightly to be real. He frowns. He can definitely tell she’s lying. </p><p>“Is it Ed?” Al asks, a little unsure. “Because I haven’t met Mustang either, and I’m still suspicious too.” </p><p>“Yeah!” Winry winces internally. She’d jumped on that too intensely for it to seem real. “I just— I’m worried about him, you know?” She sits down next to Al, panicking for a second when she can’t remember how closely she should sit. Would it be weird if she sat too far away? But what if she sits too close and it’s awkward?  </p><p>Winry sits down a medium distance from him, curling up on the couch so she doesn’t look as stiff and awkward as she feels. Al, thankfully, doesn’t seem to notice her hesitation. </p><p>Al grimaces. “I know. I guess I always imagined he’d end up with someone… good. Passionate, obviously, but a sort of healer. Not… someone like <i>him</i>.” </p><p>Winry frowns. There’s a strange look on Al’s face, and the person he’d been talking about almost sounds like… Wait, he doesn’t really think— not <i>her</i> and <i>Ed</i>. “You know,” she says, faux-casually, “now that I think about it, maybe this is good for him. He needs someone who will keep him on his toes. I don’t think he could ever settle down the way you and I could.” Winry flushes. Did she really just say that? She hadn’t meant— not together, just in general. </p><p>Al flushes too. Does that mean he’d thought she’d been saying that they could settle down together? Or maybe he’s just embarrassed that she doesn’t think he was right about Ed and her. “Right. I mean, I guess. It’s just: why couldn’t he just have chosen the easy path?”  </p><p>Al grimaces, hearing what he’s just said, and they say in chorus, “Because he’s Ed.” </p><p>Al snickers and Winry grins. This feels natural, at least. Sitting around and complaining about Ed is something they’ve been doing since Al could talk and Ed could run around making chaos. </p><p>“Still weird,” Winry said. </p><p>Al nods earnestly, putting aside his books. “Wait until you hear how they met.” </p><p>Winry scootches back until she’s leaning against a pillow and stretches her legs out, tucking her cold toes under Al’s furnace of a leg. </p><p>“You know how you taught him that ‘dumb blond’ trick?” Al starts. </p><p>Winry nods. “Second worst decision I’ve ever made, after giving Paninya secret pouches in her legs.” </p><p>Al looks at her in total agreement. “Anyways, so the way he tells it, he was at this bar...” </p><p> </p><p>Roy is worried about something; Ed knows that much. He also knows that it’s probably the plan that Hawkeye is pissed about, but he can’t ask any questions about that without revealing that Havoc gave him the file. Roy is (sometimes unfortunately) a smart guy. The second Ed gives him a clue, he’ll catch on and the whole thread of their plan will unravel. </p><p>Which means that he has to pretend he doesn’t notice the fact that Roy hasn’t let go of him more than twice in the past four hours. He’s always holding Ed’s hand, or has his head tipped on Ed’s shoulder, or has leg pressed up against Ed’s. <i>And</i> he has to pretend that he doesn’t notice the worried look that washes over Roy’s face periodically whenever he thinks Ed isn’t looking. For a politician, Roy is apparently a really terrible liar. </p><p>He sighs as Roy threads his fingers through Ed’s loose hair. It’s gentle— always gentle— but there’s an edge of desperation to it that he can’t shake. Ed frowns. At this point, it’s probably weirder that he hasn’t asked Roy what’s going on. Roy can’t really think that he hasn’t noticed. He thinks Ed is defenseless, not an idiot. </p><p>“What’s wrong?” Ed asks, biting the bullet. Roy opens his mouth to respond and Ed can already see the ‘Nothing is wrong. Why would you ask that?’ starting to form there. He gives Roy the same sort of look Al gives him when he’s being an idiot and Roy closes his mouth, chastened. </p><p>“Hawkeye won’t talk to me,” Roy says. </p><p>Ed frowns, trying his best to seem like he knows nothing about that. On a better day, Roy would probably notice. Ed has never been a great liar— most of his acting relies on people being to horny or drunk to realize that something is up— and he’s even more obvious to anyone who’s known him for more than a few hours. </p><p>“Why?” </p><p>The line of Roy’s mouth grows tight. “Work.” </p><p>Ed raises his eyebrows. “Okay. I’m not gonna push.” </p><p>The look of relief on Roy’s face is almost embarrassing. Whatever it is they’re planning, it looks like he doesn’t want Ed to know. Which is not good.  </p><p>Shit, now Ed is anxious too, which isn’t good, because Ed doesn’t <i>do</i> anxious. He does angry; he does tired; he does stubborn, horny, excited, and scared, but he doesn’t do anxious. Anxious makes you jumpy. Anxious makes you doubt yourself. Anxious makes you make mistakes. </p><p>It’s a good thing he and Al are almost done with the counter. (It’s beautiful, too. The original array is obviously gorgeous as well, one of the most brilliant things Ed’s seen since his dad showed him Xerxian alchemy when he turned seven. But the counter... Well, there’s a reason he and Al periodically get requests to publish in ridiculously well-known journals, and it’s not because of their prose.) Ed resists the urge to frown. He could be back at their apartment, finishing up, but instead he’d come over to Roy’s to keep him from noticing anything off. (There was also the fact that it would let him leave Al and Winry alone together. Which, awesome, because he’s getting real tired of the way they keep sneaking glances at each other like they’re not obvious. Which they totally are.) </p><p>He huffs and pokes Roy’s shoulder. “Whatcha reading?” </p><p>Roy holds up a paperback entitled ‘<i>The Vampire Curse</i>.’  </p><p>Ed groans. “Again with the trash fiction?” </p><p>“You think all fiction is trash!” Roy responds indignantly, like he’s not totally aware that it falls into the realm of trash fiction. </p><p>“No, I think all fiction is useless,” Ed corrects. He’s serious, sort of. He just doesn’t get the appeal of most of it. Allegorical alchemy stuff, yeah, because that’s alchemy, so duh. And he sort of gets his mom’s thing with weird mystery novels, because that’s basically just a puzzle that you’re trying to solve before the author gets there. But bad vampire romances? It just seems like a waste of time to read it when you could be reading something actually good. </p><p>Roy pouts. “They’re fun.” </p><p>“Yeah, I’m sure reading god-awful prose is really fun,” Ed says. </p><p>“It is, actually.” Roy grins. “I’m keeping a running tally of ‘things this 100-year-old vampire said that sound like a seventeen-year-old's idea of deep.’” </p><p>Ed frowns suspiciously. “What’s the worst one so far?” </p><p>“‘The eternal twilight of my existence is a curse, one that I pay for every day for with the burning lust in my throat— the demons in my blood.’” </p><p>“No fuckin way.” </p><p>“Page twelve,” Roy says triumphantly.  </p><p>Ed snorts. Roy is on page seventy-four. “I can’t believe that didn’t put you off.” </p><p>Roy shrugs. “Sometimes it’s nice to read terrible books that assure you that love wins out in the end.” He smirks. “Especially if they involve biting kinks.” </p><p>Ed reaches around for a couch cushion and hits him in the head. Roy does not look repentant. </p><p>“You’re the worst,” Ed says. </p><p>“You have terrible taste, then.” </p><p>Ed snorts. “You sure know how to sweet-talk a gal.” </p><p>Roy blinks, like him saying that has brought up the image of something strange and not altogether undesirable. Ed looks at him for a second, decides that tonight is not the night, and makes a mental note to come back to whatever the fuck he was thinking about later. </p><p>“Only for you, darling,” he says, smirking at Ed.  </p><p>“You are a total bastard,” Ed declares. </p><p>Roy shrugs. “You’re into it.” </p><p>“Unfortunately.” </p><p>“You don’t mean that,” Roy says confidently, turning the page. </p><p>“No,” Ed relents, sighing, “I don’t.” </p><p> </p><p>Winry is… <i>amazing, incredible, beautiful, kind, funny, smart,</i> Al’s brain supplies as he turns over in his bed. And <i>not in love with Ed.</i></p><p>He knows that Ed was never in love with Winry, at least in theory, but he’s always harbored secret suspicions that there was something more below the surface of their relationship. Ed’s whole thing with Mustang hasn’t <i>killed</i> his doubts, because you can love two people at once, but it’s at least confirmed that Ed, for the moment, isn’t interested in Winry.  </p><p>Winry, on the other hand... Well, Winry and Ed bite each other’s heads off, usually, but it’s mostly because that’s how they show that they’re worried. Besides, Al has ample evidence just from watching Ed that bickering doesn’t belie being in love. He’s been expecting that they’d finally get over themselves and stop dancing around each other since the summer he turned fifteen, when Winry came to Dublith to get out of the heat of Rush Valley like she always did and he and Ed met her at the station. When she’d stepped off the train, there’d been this look that passed between her and Ed and Al could see the moment Winry realized that Ed was finally taller than her and Ed finally realized that Winry was gorgeous. The two of them had spent most of that summer arguing, and bickering, and dancing around each other until Al was exhausted.  </p><p>And nothing happened— or at least Al doesn’t <i>think</i> anything happened— but the next summer, Ed and Winry started going out together and Al had to bail them out of jail more than once for their underage drinking. That summer, Ed figured out that he was interested in sex and Winry figured out that she was interested in watching Ed make a fool of himself trying to flirt, and Al hadn’t been left behind, really, but he didn’t want to bother using his fake ID and he didn’t like the bars they chose anyways, so more nights than not, he stayed at home studying and was asleep by the time they got back. </p><p>Sometime during those two summers, it had stopped being Al-and-Ed, or Al-and-Winry-and-Ed, and started being Ed-and-Winry and Al.  </p><p>It doesn’t help that they would be a good couple. They’re both so fundamentally <i>good</i>, even if they’re a bit violent and loud and prone to random outbursts. They care about everyone and everyone in a way Al’s never been able to figure out. He doesn’t approve of murder or anything, but he’s watched them give a million second chances to hundreds of people who didn’t deserve it, and he’s watched them get hurt because of it. He just doesn’t <i>get</i> that— how they can let themselves get taken advantage of on the off chance that the thief won’t steal anything the fourth time they let them go with a warning. They deserve better than that, and they deserve better than someone who can never understand why they keep doing it. They’d be lovely and fierce and passionate together— something greater than the sum of their parts— and Al wouldn’t be left behind, not really, but he wouldn’t be with them too. </p><p>Al has been in love with Winry since the summer he turned twelve, and he’s grown up thinking— <i>knowing</i>— that he’s going to watch her marry Ed, and he’ll watch the two of them be happy, and it’ll be wonderful, really, because he loves both of them too much to not be happy for them. But it’ll be Winry-and-Ed for the rest of their lives, and Al will be in love with her for the rest of his life, and he’ll never say a word. </p><p>But Winry had said that she couldn’t ever be with Ed long term— or, well, that’s what she’d meant. And maybe she’d been lying to him and to herself, trying to pretend that seeing him be utterly in love and not with her didn’t hurt as much as it did. But... Al <i>knows</i> Winry, knows all her little quirks and habits— knows that she worries her right thumb’s cuticle when she lies, and gets a crease in the corner of her mouth when she’s concerned about an injury (which is different from the wrinkle in her forehead when she’s worried about testing a new type of insulation for automail wiring), and chews on the inside of her cheek when she’s thinking about what she’s about to say— and she hadn’t looked like she was lying. Whatever she had been upset about, it hadn’t been <i>Ed</i>, at least not insofar as her being secretly in love with him. </p><p>It’s not like she’s in love with Al— it’s not like she even has a crush on him, or thinks of him any way besides a little brother— but it’s at least <i>something</i>.  </p><p> </p><p>“So,” Al is saying to Winry, “because it’s not working off the modern conception of angular energy concentration, you can’t counter it using Arnold’s theory of inverse proportions.” </p><p>Ed lounges on the couch, one leg stretched out as he stretches absent mindedly. He’d spent about thirty seconds trying to explain their counter to Winry with Al before both of them told him he was more trouble than he was worth and glared him into fucking off. (They were probably right. He’s been told that his version of explaining involves a lot of pointing and gesturing and saying ‘right?’ nd not a lot of actual explaining.) </p><p>They make a cute couple, bent over their notes like that. Al’s bangs are swept back with some kind of gel and Winry has the errant strands of hair that always seem to hang in her face pinned back with the pins that Al had gotten her for her birthday one year. They match her eyes, Ed notices. Al had somehow managed to find stones— wait, are those sapphires? holy shit those might be sapphires— that correspond exactly to the strange shade of blue of her irises. They look expensive, too. Ed is pretty sure that they’re real silver, and the metalwork of the dragonflies on them is too intricate to be anything but ridiculously high quality. </p><p>Ed frowns. Al had bought them how many years ago? Ed had been sixteen, so Al had been fifteen, which means... Holy fuck. He’d written the gift off at the time as just Al being thoughtful— which, sure, Al totally is— but that’s not the sort of gift you give your proto-sister. That’s the kind of gift you give your girlfriend. For an anniversary. Dear god, how has he missed this? Was he so obsessed with himself as a teenager that he didn’t even notice Al’s (apparently) massive crush on Winry, or is Al just really good at hiding it? Definitely the second one, Ed decides, ignoring the fact that Al is staring at Winry with a blatantly lovestruck expression. If it’s the first, then Ed is an idiot, and he really doesn’t want to be an idiot. </p><p>“...which is what Xerxian alchemy is based on, really,” Al is saying, “and this is ridiculously similar to Xerxian alchemy.” </p><p>Winry looks up at him, and their eyes meet. They’re less than an inch apart, and they both seem to realize that because they blush bright red. </p><p>Ed wants to groan. Maybe he’d missed Al’s crush out of survival instincts. Watching this is torturous, and it probably would have been worse beforehand, when Winry hadn’t even been interested. Wait, she hadn’t been interested, right? <i>No way</i>, Ed assures himself, deliberately ignoring the rush of memories of Winry giving Al weirdly adoring looks. She’d had that whole thing with Paninya when she was seventeen, and that had lasted until a year ago, after all, so she couldn’t possibly have been harboring a secret crush this long. </p><p>He switches legs, grimacing at the soreness in his right one. That’s what he gets for ignoring his stretching to think about his younger brother’s love life.  </p><p>Al looks up at him as Ed groans, and Ed throws him a significant look and nods at Winry. Al mouths ‘Shut up’ and turns an even brighter shade of red. Ed grins. He has to make up for years of lost teasing opportunities. </p><p> </p><p>“Ready?” Ed asks. </p><p>Winry nods, looking at Al. </p><p>It’s six PM, late enough that most people are gone from Market Square, and the three of them are standing on the roof of one of the nearby buildings. She’d snuck out early that morning and laid down their alloy in between the bricks, rearranging the bricks themselves into circles that they could activate so they wouldn’t have to draw the array on their hands. and they could make sure they had the counter on both arms. Ed ditched his guards an hour ago, doubling back from the old warehouse district and making sure to draw plenty attention to himself as an alchemist on the way back. </p><p>Ed finishes drawing their counter array on both his palms and tosses the permanent marker to Al, who takes Winry’s hands gently and does it for her. She absolutely, 100%, does not blush, nor does she notice that Al still presses a bit of his tongue between his lips as he concentrates, or that his hands are smooth and warm and gentle. </p><p>Ed raises his eyebrows at them, and Al flushes. Wait— is Al doing this on purpose? She’d just sort of assumed that the touches and looks and occasional line was just Al being himself, unaware of what he was doing. But if he’s doing it on purpose... Oh, for fuck’s sake, couldn’t she have figured this out a better time? They’re going to fight a serial killer, and he’s probably almost there. This is not the sort of situation where they can have a long and involved talk about their feelings. </p><p>“Some of us never learned to use our left hands, <i>Ed</i>,” she says once it’s clear that Al is too flustered to respond. </p><p>(Ed had spent most of the first grade learning to write and draw with his left hand while the rest of the class had been learning to read and write and do basic arithmetic. Winry had read under her desk. The teachers hadn’t even bothered to try and get Al to pay attention when he’d come in the year after them.) </p><p>Ed gives them both a shit-eating grin. </p><p>Al finishes with her hands and starts doing his own. Winry grasps his wrist lightly and takes the marker from him, returning the favor. She very carefully doesn’t look up, because she’s pretty sure that the look on Al’s face is going to make her want to kiss him too much to resist. </p><p>She finishes the last mark and tosses it back to Ed, who stores it in the pocket he keeps his knives in. Where he finds space in those stupid leather pants, she’ll never know. She’s wearing a much more sensible pair of leggings, though they’re both wearing tank tops with a light sweater over them. It’s cold now, but they’ll warm up as soon as they get started, and a puffy coat would hamper their movement. Al is wearing a pair of loose cotton trousers and a pullover, which really shouldn’t look as good as they do. Oh for fuck’s... Winry is out of her mind.  </p><p>“Ready?” Winry repeats.  </p><p>The other two nod, and they follow her down the fire escape and as she starts warning civilians away. Al activates the arrays Winry had left to fence in the square and protect the storefronts, and Ed stands in the center, looking horribly cocky and terribly recognizable. </p><p>There’s about half a minute after the point when Winry gets the last civilian out using a state alchemist’s pocket watch (Ed had swiped Roy’s, which sounds like a typically Ed thing to do, by which she means idiotic aside from the part where it’s actually really useful) where they’re all waiting on edge, hoping that their plan worked. </p><p>It <i>should</i> work. Scar was clearly narrowing in on Mustang, and Ed is the obvious target. This is Scar’s favorite time to go and kidnap people: just after work and right before dusk, when it’s cold and everyone is tired, and late enough that the person he’s baiting in will have to approach in the dark. </p><p>The streetlights flicker on. All is quiet. Then, there’s a massive explosion, and dust clouds the air. </p><p>Winry flicks open her switchblade, knowing that Ed and Al are doing the same. She’s got her knife in her right hand, left palm ready to block. (She might be able to use the array on her right hand to counter his even without touching his arm, but she’s not a good enough alchemist that she wants to chance it. Besides, she’ll naturally block his attacks with her left hand anyways.) </p><p>She hears another explosion and runs toward the sound. Next to her, there’s the sound of chalk on pavement, and then the smell of ozone, and the air clears. Al is knelt a few feet behind her, hand on an array that has just cleared all the dust from the air. <i>He’s so clever</i>, she thinks, astounded, even though this is just <i>Al</i>. (But doesn’t that make it more impressive? That he’s always this smart?) </p><p>Without any obstructions, she can see where Ed and Scar are fighting. What she sees makes her blood run cold. </p><p>Ed is the best hand-to-hand fighter she knows, aside from their teacher, but Scar has him outclassed. Ed is just barely missing Scar’s swipes. He doesn’t even have a knife out; he’s focusing all his energy on blocking. Every second or so, there’s a blue crackle as he counters and Scar gets more enraged.  </p><p>“I have no quarrel with you,” Scar growls as Ed twists under his hand. </p><p>“Yeah, well, it sure seems like it,” Ed retorts, eyes narrowed in concentration as he aims a blow to Scar’s lower back. </p><p>Scar turns and grabs Ed’s arm before Ed can hit him, twisting in a way that’s meant to make Ed crumple. Instead, Ed flips over, startling Scar for long enough that he can get a few feet away. </p><p>“I don’t want to kill you, but I will,” Scar says, “The only life I want is Mustang’s. Cooperate, and I will have no reason to hurt you.” </p><p>“Not gonna happen.” </p><p>“Then you will die,” Scar says. </p><p>If he’d been outclassed before, then Ed is utterly overwhelmed now. Scar is somehow faster than he was before, landing several hits on Ed. The only thing keeping Ed alive is the fact that he’s managing to counter Scar’s blows with his array as they hit. </p><p>He needs help. </p><p>“Hey!” Winry yells, running towards Scar. “Get away from him!” </p><p>Scar grits his teeth, attention turning to her. Edward jumps away, breathing a sigh of relief. </p><p>“Don’t get involved in this, girl,” he warns. </p><p>“You were attacking him!” Winry yells. “If you’re going to hurt him, then I’m going to get involved.” </p><p>He looks between the two of them, eyes flashing. “I have no desire to hurt innocents.” </p><p>“That’d be a lot more convincing if you weren’t just trying to kill me,” Ed says, wiping sweat away from my brow. </p><p>“I told you,” Scar says, “My only quarrel is with Mustang. If you will not allow yourself to be taken, then I will lure him here by other means.” </p><p>“Fat chance,” Ed says. </p><p>Scar shakes his head, hands twisting in anger. “Do you know what he has done, boy?” </p><p>“I have some inkling, yeah,” Ed says, “but you’re not so saintly yourself.” </p><p>“I kill those who deserve to die,” Scar says. “It is justice.” </p><p>“It’s revenge,” Ed retorts, “plain and simple. If it were justice, then you’d be a lot more bothered about killing people with kids— with families.” </p><p>Scar takes his glasses off, crushing them between his fingers. He looks each of them dead in the eyes, one by one, so they see his red pupils. “Did they worry about killing children— killing families? Do you know what I saw your lover do? Do you know I saw him burn children to a crisp with the snap of his fingers?” </p><p>“Which is fucking despicable,” Ed says tightly, but it’s clear the anger is only half directed at Scar, “but killing him won’t fix that.” </p><p>“Killing him will bring peace.” Scar’s red eyes are narrowed, back straight, and Winry can see in him the remains of a holy man. </p><p>“It won’t,” Ed says, “and I think you know that, otherwise you wouldn’t be trying to convince me to stop caring about him. You’re just continuing the violence.” </p><p>“And what does a boy like you know of violence?” Scar tenses, and Ed tenses as well, ready for the attack that’s coming. </p><p>“Enough to know that killing is wrong, which is more than you, apparently.” </p><p>Winry wants to groan. Even when they’re facing a really dangerous serial killer, Ed apparently can’t keep himself from being incendiary. Once this is over, she is going to have a long talk with him about who is and isn’t a good idea to antagonize. </p><p>Scar exhales sharply. “Enough. Let us end this.” </p><p>While Ed and Scar have been talking, Al and Winry have circled behind him so that he’s caught between the three of them. He must have noticed, but he’s made no move to stop them, which means he clearly doesn’t think very highly of their abilities. That does not bode well for them. </p><p>In the space between one second and the next, Scar darts forward, and Ed barely has enough time to raise a hand to fend off the blow. A few meters across from her, Al narrows his eyes, and they advance on Scar together. Al lands a few hits, managing to bait Scar away from Ed long enough to catch his breath, and then Winry joins in. </p><p>She darts in and out, only engaging long enough to bait Scar closer to one of the brick arrays she’d inlaid into the ground. She’s the slowest of them, they all know that. She’s very good— clever and graceful in the sharp sort of way that makes combat less of a battle of physics and more of a dance— but she’s still the slowest. She’s very good, but Ed and Al are better. And Scar is even better than they are. </p><p>Winry darts in quickly, ducking under Scar’s arm and using his momentum to push him off balance. Al comes in, delivering a blow to the lower back. It won’t do anything more than momentarily unbalance him, but it will be enough to push him an inch farther.  </p><p>They slowly make headway, half a foot there, and another half there. Ed is only bothering to dodge at this point, steadily drawing Scar backwards as Al distracts Scar enough to give Ed periodic breathing room and Winry shoves Scar farther and farther.  </p><p>He doesn’t seem to know what they’re shoving him towards, if he even realizes what they’re doing is intentional. Winry’s heart is racing, but her thoughts are clear. This is dangerous— Scar is better than Mrs. Curtis, and none of them have ever been able to beat her, even together— but they don’t need to beat him, just incapacitate him long enough to make his array useless.  </p><p><i>It’s going to be okay</i>, Winry thinks absently, raising her hand to Scar’s arm as he grabs her shoulder. <i>We can do this</i>. </p><p>Then one of the walls they’d put up to keep civilians out crumbles. </p><p> </p><p>Roy has been freaking out for the last hour, ever since Ed’s guards called in with the message that they’d lost him. He feels sick to his stomach. He hasn’t been quick enough. Ed might die tonight, and it’ll be his fault. </p><p>(“What will you do,” Hawkeye had asked him, “if it is his life or yours?” He knows what she wants him to say: that it will be his life that he protects, not Ed’s, that however much Ed matters— that however much Ed matters to <i>him</i>— he will remain pragmatic. He knows what she wanted him to say, but he couldn’t say it— not out loud. </p><p>The truth is, he already knows the answer. It will be Ed’s life. This country can’t afford to lose him, much as he deserves to die. If he dies, then Grumman will be without a successor and someone like Hakuro will take over, and everything he has worked for since Ishval will collapse.  </p><p>It doesn’t mean it won’t destroy him to watch Ed die.) </p><p>He’s spent the last hour desperately hoping that it’s another case of Ed getting lost, that it’s a coincidence that this happened just as Scar was closing in. It only makes the news so much worse when it comes. </p><p>Hughes rushes into his office, a frantic look on his face. “There were just explosions in Market Square. There was someone of Ed’s description there right before it happened.” </p><p>Roy is already pulling on his jacket, Riza right behind him.  </p><p>Hughes drives; Roy’s hands are shaking even as he puts on the gloves. Riza checks her guns in the seat next to him. It’s ten minutes to Market Square from Central Command. </p><p><i>Please</i>, he prays the whole way there, <i>don’t let Ed have done something stupid. Please let him be okay. Please let both of us make it out. </i></p><p>The drive seems to take hours, or maybe his heart is just beating so fast that his sense of time is skewed. Every second seems stretched into an eternity, every time he blinks an image of Ed, lying dead and bloodied on the ground, appears before his eyes. He’s so young, and so defenseless, and Roy dragged him into this and might not be able to get him out. </p><p>He’s tumbling out of the car before it’s even stopped, drawing an array for the destruction of brick on the wall that’s in his way and making it disintegrate before his eyes. He rushes in, fearing the worst, but then he stops. Whatever he had expected to see (Ed lying dead, Ed begging for his life, Ed screaming his name as he fails to save him), he hadn’t expected <i>this</i>.  </p><p>Scar doesn’t have him, not yet. There’s still time. </p><p>Ed does a backflip, narrowly avoiding Scar by a margin of just a few centimeters. Roy is nearly having a heart attack. Ed clearly isn’t made for this. His relative athleticism will only take him so far. </p><p>But then, Scar overbalances slightly, and Ed takes advantage, moving into the blind spot he’s created. </p><p>Roy’s heart stops. Then starts again. </p><p>Ed knows what he’s doing. And he’s <i>good</i>, a flash of golden hair and a snarl, light, sharp, and aggressive. Ed is something halfway between man and beast, human and weapon; he’s <i>beautiful</i>. </p><p>Roy swallows. If Ed makes it out of this alive, Roy is going to have a lot of things to say. Most notably: ‘What the hell’ and ‘Pin me to a wall and take me now.’ </p><p>“Ed!” The blond girl calls, glancing at Roy for half a second before she returns to the fight. </p><p>“I know!” He calls back. “Not my fault.” </p><p>“I’ll activate,” the other man— Al, probably, just based on his coloring— says. </p><p>Whatever that means, the girl and Ed seem to understand, as Ed darts forward, luring Scar towards him, and the girl places a well-aimed kick to the middle of Scar’s back. Scar stumbles slightly, and Al is already kneeling at where he lands, placing his hand to the stone. There’s a flash of blue light, the smell of ozone, and Scar is encased in some unidentifiable alloy up to his neck, with his right bicep left free. </p><p>Ed pulls out a switchblade, flicking it open, and he slashes a long, shallow, cut through most of the array on Scar’s arm. He closes the blade, and all three of them breathe a sigh of relief. </p><p>“Ed,” the blond girl sighs, “why is your boyfriend here?” </p><p>“He’s not supposed to be,” Ed mutters. “He should have been out of the office before he got the call about me ditching the guards.” </p><p>Roy blinks. “You <i>ditched your guards?</i> Why would you—” </p><p>Ed gives him a look. “Yeah, obviously I ditched them. They’re not totally incompetent, but it’s pretty damn hard to keep an eye on me when I shove a bunch of tourists between us, duck into an alley, and climb a building. Also, seriously Roy? ‘Why?’” </p><p>Roy takes a breath, filing away everything Ed has just said for a future freak-out session. “Yes,” he says, forcing himself to stay calm. “Why?” </p><p>Ed looks at him like he’s stupid. “Because they were going to get themselves hurt if they tried to help me.” </p><p>“They,” Roy says, really very proud of himself for not totally losing it, because really, what the fuck, Ed? Roy has been terrified for weeks, and Ed just walks in and throws himself in harm’s way without even telling him and acts like everything is <i>fine</i>. Everything is categorically, empirically, not <i>fine</i>, “Are trained for this. Ed, you’re—” He sighs frustratedly, running his fingers through his hair and barely noticing that the ignition cloth is catching on the strands in a truly uncomfortable manner. </p><p>“<i>They’re</i> trained for this?” Ed snorts. “Roy, I just took down a serial killer.” There’s a polite cough from behind him. Roy can’t tell if it came from Al or the blonde girl. Ed huffs. “Yeah, sorry. Me, Al, and Winry, just took down a serial killer, which literally no one in the military has been able to do. I think that’s a pretty decent metric for how ‘trained’ we are.” </p><p>“You could have been <i>hurt</i>,” Roy emphasizes. “Why on earth would you do this?” </p><p>Ed rolls his eyes, and Roy feels a pang of anger and frustration. Ed doesn’t get to do that— to act like everything is fine and Roy is being ridiculous. He could have been hurt doing something stupid, and reckless, and not at all his job.  </p><p>“Because I was tired of the guards and he was going to go after you anyways. May as well do you a favor and take him out, right?” Ed grins. </p><p>“No,” Roy says angrily, “not <i>right</i>. This isn’t your job. This isn’t your responsibility.” </p><p>Ed’s face falls. “Well <i>sorry</i> for doing you a favor then.” His eyes are narrowed. “I wouldn’t have bothered if I’d thought you’d be annoyed that I, y’know, stopped him from killing you.” </p><p>“He wouldn’t have killed me!” One of Roy’s fists is clenched by his side. “I would have been fine and we could have just forgotten about it entirely.” </p><p>Ed takes a step back, like he’s being repulsed. “What is your <i>problem</i>? I helped you and this is how you’re acting?” </p><p>“Sorry I didn’t drop down to my knees and offer obeisance in gratitude,” Roy spits. </p><p>Ed gives him a look of disgust. “Yeah, well, go fuck yourself. I just thought a ‘thanks’ and a ‘are you okay?’ and maybe a ‘oh, cool, I’m dating a badass’ would be nice, but if that’s too much for you, then feel free to yell at me some more.” </p><p>“I’m supposed to <i>thank</i> you for putting yourself in danger and not even telling me?” Roy can feel his hands shaking, and with great effort, he steadies them, slipping them into his pockets. “I’m supposed to <i>thank</i> you for pretending to forget that I exist and just letting me worry?” </p><p>“What was I supposed to do?” Ed spits back. “Tell you, and get dismissed out of hand? ‘Yes, Ed, I’m sure you can handle yourself in a bar fight, but leave the <i>real</i> work to us.’ Like hell! I wasn’t going to get hurt, and I wasn’t going to die. If you had tried to fight him, you would have!” Roy starts to open his mouth, but Ed cuts him off with an angry look. “I just fought him! I know what I’m talking about! He could have dodged any precision attacks, and he’s not stupid enough to let you get him alone so that you could hit a massive area. He would have cornered you, gotten close, and then killed you. And that’s if he hadn’t chosen to go after you while it was raining! Why can’t you just admit that I saved your life?” </p><p>“Because it’s not your job!” Roy shouts. “Because you could have gotten yourself hurt for me!” He pauses, letting out a long breath. When he speaks again, he’s far quieter. “You shouldn’t have to do that for me.” </p><p>Ed still looks furious, but the harshness in his eyes fades slightly. “I didn’t <i>have</i> to do anything. You didn’t blackmail me into it, or something. I wanted to do it, and it would have been my fault if I’d gotten hurt.” He sighs. “Look, I’m sorry I made you worry. I get why you’re freaked out. But can you just trust that I knew what I was doing— that I wouldn’t have done it if I thought I’d get hurt?” </p><p>“Things go wrong,” Roy says bleakly, all the fight leaking out and leaving him exhausted, “and you went after him because of me, you said as much yourself.” </p><p>Ed huffs, and Roy wonders what he possibly could have just said to earn Ed’s ire.  </p><p>“Going after him was my choice,” Ed says. “Even if, y’know, I got hurt for some reason, it still wouldn’t be your fault. You don’t always have to be the one doing the protecting.” </p><p>Roy sighs. Ed isn't <i>wrong</i>; if he can handle himself, then Roy can probably afford to worry a little less. “Thanks,” he says. “Are you okay?” </p><p>Ed grins. “You’re welcome, and yeah.” </p><p>Roy looks towards Scar, then back at Ed. “Oh, cool, I’m dating a badass.” </p><p>“Yup,” Ed pops the p. “You absolutely are.” </p><p> </p><p>Al doesn’t hate Mustang so much anymore. Sure, the guy isn’t great, and he’s definitely not good enough for Ed, but it’s hard to hate someone whose first reaction to realizing that Ed was in danger was to hyperventilate, regardless of how ill-deserved the hyperventilation was. Mustang cares about Ed (rather a lot, if their whole argument is anything to go by), and seems to lose a lot of his common sense and pragmatism when he’s worried about Ed. Al respects that. </p><p>Besides, he’d offer to buy all three of them (plus his friend and the scary blonde woman) dinner, which was very polite, given that he’d already promised cash compensation. Maybe Ed was right, and there’s something to this vigilantism. </p><p>They’re in a corner booth, all smushed together. Mustang had glued himself to Ed’s side, so he’s sat between the scary blonde woman, whose name, Al learned, is Hawkeye, and Ed. Ed had made sure to drag Al next to him just so he could make sure Al was caught right next to Winry. Sometimes, Al can’t decide if he loves or hates his brother. </p><p>Winry sighs, resting her head on Al’s shoulder, and closes her eyes.  </p><p>“’M tired,” she mumbles. “Wake me up when the food comes.” Yep, Al definitely loves his brother.  </p><p>“So,” Hughes says to Al once Winry has gone to sleep, “you don’t approve of them.” </p><p>Al chances a glance over to where Ed and Mustang are pressed up against each other despite the amount of space around them. Their arms are pressed together, Mustang is giving Ed this odd, near-unreadable gaze which Al is pretty sure is his equivalent of lovingly staring at him, and Al’s willing to wager that their legs are entangled under the table.  </p><p>“I approve of anyone who is good for him,” Al says diplomatically. </p><p>Hughes smiles, wickedly sharp. Oh, he heard what Al didn’t say. “Funny. I feel the same way about Roy.” </p><p>Al raises his eyebrows, pretending to be unimpressed. “And how does my brother measure up?” </p><p>Hughes tilts his head slightly, as though he’s thinking about the question. Al knows what he’s really thinking about is all the ways he might have to respond to Al’s next response. Two steps ahead. Al is almost inclined to like him. </p><p>“He’s terrible for Roy’s blood pressure,” Hughes says finally, “though I’m hoping that will get better now that he knows Ed can handle himself.” </p><p>Al makes a noncommittal noise. Hughes hadn’t really answered his question. </p><p>Hughes must know what Al is thinking, because he smirks. “And what about Roy? Is he good for Ed?” </p><p>Al drops his mask of nonchalance, letting his face turn cold. “Perhaps, though I don’t think he’s <i>good enough</i> for Ed.” </p><p>“Yeah,” Hughes says ruefully, “you have that in common with him.” </p><p>Al makes another noncommittal noise. It’ll take more than some vaguely mournful platitudes to convince him. </p><p>“I don’t want him to get hurt,” Hughes says, and Al knows that he’s being honest. </p><p>“He’s a grown man,” Al replies mildly, “I’m sure he can take care of himself.” </p><p>Hughes snorts. “Oh, yeah? So is Ed.” </p><p>Al’s eyes flash before he can stop himself. “The difference is that I care what happens to my brother.” </p><p>Hughes raises his eyes, face still neutral. “I’m on your side.” </p><p>Al sighs. “Don’t insult me by pretending that I’m going to believe you. You’re on the General’s side, and no one else’s. For the moment, that happens to align with my interest of protecting Ed, but it’s not the same thing.” </p><p>Hughes blinks, then a slow grin spreads over his face. He offers his hand to Al, who takes it, shaking it with no small amount of bemusement. </p><p>“Maes Hughes,” Hughes offers, “but call me Maes.” </p><p>Al raises an eyebrow. “May I ask what prompted this change in manner?” </p><p>“You’re too clever for me not to like.” Maes shrugs. “I was worried you were going to be so protective you couldn’t see sense, and you’d ask Roy to promise you things he can’t ensure.” </p><p>Al snorts derisively. “Like what? For Ed to not get involved in politics? For Ed’s safety? I’m not naïve enough to believe that Ed could fall in with a politician and not end up entangled in his mess.” </p><p>Maes grins. “Exactly.” </p><p>“I still don’t trust either of you,” Al says, tilting his head and waiting to see how Maes will respond. </p><p>“And I don’t trust you,” Maes says. “That doesn’t mean I don’t like you.” </p><p>Al thinks for a moment. “I’d like you better if you weren’t involved in potentially ruining my brother’s life.” </p><p>Maes shrugs. “Sure. That makes sense.” He pauses, body language changing. He relaxes, going from a tightly wound coil to sprawling across the seat in an incredible imitation of an overcooked string bean. “Anyways,” he says, reaching into his wallet, “let me show you some pictures of my wife and daughters!” </p><p> </p><p>Al nudges Winry awake when the food gets there, and she gets to watch Hughes and Hawkeye be alternately impressed and horrified at the amount of food Ed can devour in one sitting. (The saddest part is that he’s actually slowed down since he was a teenager. When he was fifteen, Ed had gotten banned from five separate eating competitions for reckless self-endangerment by overeating.) </p><p>Once she’s done, she puts her head on Al’s shoulder again. At his odd look, she says, “You have a very comfortable shoulder.” </p><p>“Okay,” he says, and then goes bright red.  </p><p>Winry can feel Ed smirking at the two of them, so she flips him off. “You, shut up,” she says. “You owe us.” </p><p>Ed snorts. “For what? You volunteered to do this.” </p><p>“Oh, no,” Winry replies, “not for Scar. You owe us for keeping our mouths shut to Mrs. Curtis.” </p><p>Ed groans so horribly that she moves her head from Al’s shoulder to watch, delighting in Ed’s misery. “I’m going to die. She’s going to kill me, and then I’m going to die.” </p><p>“That is usually how it happens,” Mustang says, smirking. </p><p>“I hate all of you,” Ed declares. “You’re all traitors.” </p><p>“Well,” Hawkeye says, “I know why you two get along so well, now. You’re both needlessly overdramatic.” </p><p>“Hey!” Mustang protests. “I am not—” </p><p>Hawkeye silences him with a very scary look. Hm. Winry is going to have to ask her to teach her that one. The whole table laughs, and, after a minute, Mustang joins in.  </p><p>Winry leans against Al, reveling in how warm he is. She must make some sort of contented noise, because she feels Al tense under her touch. Aw.  </p><p>She yawns, not entirely falsely. “’M pretty beat,” Winry says to Al, though she makes sure it’s loud enough that the rest of the table can hear. </p><p>“I’ll take you home,” Al says, ever the gentleman. </p><p>Hah. Winry had been counting on that. She’s an evil genius.  </p><p>(The knowing looks from Ed, Hughes, and even Mustang and Hawkeye as she gets up tell her that she is definitely not a genius. Whatever. She can outsmart all of them when it comes to automail, and she gets to cling to Al (who is astonishingly well muscled, holy cow. Why has it taken her this long to realize she wants to climb this boy like a tree?)) </p><p>It’s about a half hour walk to Ed and Al’s small house, so Al offers to call a cab once they get outside and realize how cold it is. </p><p>“Nah,” she refuses, taking a deep breath of the cold air, “I’d like to walk. So long as you don’t mind?” </p><p>“Nope,” Al says. </p><p>She takes his arm, partially for warmth, partially because she is actually pretty tired, but mostly just because she wants to. </p><p>Here’s the thing: Winry Rockbell is not, and has never been, a coward. She doesn’t mess around with feelings— not when she knows how she feels. Sure, if someone isn’t ready, she’ll hold off on the confession, but that doesn’t mean she’s going to back away when she has a good opportunity. And this, here? She and Al alone on a winter’s night, walking the streets of Central arm in arm? This is about as good as opportunities get. </p><p>“Al?” She asks, looking up at him. (Holy mother of whatever god is out there is he <i>tall</i>. It should probably make him scary, or intimidating, but when she looks at him, he’s still Al, just... an Al who’s finally grown into himself. He’s still polite, and clever, and loves her and Ed fiercely, he’s just got the confidence born of finally being grown up enough to be able to step out of his mother’s and brother’s and father’s shadow, and into himself. Maybe that’s why it’s taken her so long to realize this— she hasn’t ever been able to see him as purely himself.) </p><p>“Yeah?” He looks down at her, eyes dark until they hit the edge of the circle of light of a streetlamp. Then, they go bright gold, like honey, or the sun on a lake at sunset. </p><p>“I’m a little bit in love with you.” </p><p>Al stops, freezing in his tracks, and for one long moment, Winry thinks she’s miscalculated. Maybe Al hadn’t really meant— maybe he’d just been flirting because it was fun and they’re friends. Or, hell, maybe he’s just not <i>ready</i> and she’s pushing too hard, like she always does, and—” </p><p>“I’m in love with you too,” he says, grave and joyful, open and stoic, but mostly steady, loving, there. </p><p>Winry smiles at him instinctively, and then she’s smiling even more and jumping up on a nearby bench so that he doesn’t have to lean down to kiss her. She kisses him, fast and sweet, and she stares down at him, handsome and loving, and she realizes that there’s this massive weight on his shoulders that’s just... gone. She hadn’t even realized he’d been carrying it— it must have been there for so long— but the way Al is looking at her now is nowhere near the way he was looking at her a day ago. That was loving too, but guilty and a little sad. This is... Al without some invisible burden. She likes him even better this way. </p><p>“I love you,” she says again, because she can, and because it’s true— because whatever she’d felt when she’d seen Al leaning over his kitchen table has been building for so, so, much longer than she’d realized then. </p><p>Al laughs, bright and clear and so <i>happy</i> that she knows he’s not making fun of her— that he would never make fun of her for this. </p><p>“I love you,” she repeats, and he beams. “I love you.” </p><p> </p><p>Ed goes home with Roy. He already has a drawer of clothes there, and Roy definitely isn’t going to leave his side after everything, and since they’re totally going to have sex he really doesn’t want it to happen somewhere Al can hear. (Winry, unfortunately, has already seen him have sex. Well, she’d walked in on him eating a girl out in a supply closet, frowned, told him that she was leaving in fifteen minutes ‘and if you can’t make her come by then, then you deserve to be left behind,’ and left. Oh, Winry. Truly a woman like no other.) </p><p>“So,” Roy says as soon as he’s closed and locked the door behind him, I have to ask. Where did you learn to fight like that?” </p><p>“My alchemy teacher,” Ed explains, pulling off his sweater and smirking at the way Roy’s gaze lingers on the strip of his stomach where his shirt had ridden up. “Train the body, train the mind. She once threw knives at me while I recited Boht’s seven precepts. Said that the true mark of knowledge is retention under pressure.” </p><p>Roy gives him a horrified look. </p><p>“She wouldn’t have <i>hit</i> me,” Ed says like Roy is stupid. Which, well, given that Ed is intact, he kind of is. </p><p>“This explains so much,” Roy mutters to no one in particular. </p><p>“Oi, bastard, what’s that supposed to mean?” </p><p>Roy counts off on his fingers. “The violence, the weirdness, the all-around cheerful attitude towards being surrounded by people with guns...” </p><p>Ed makes a face. “I am not violent!” </p><p>“You literally just fought a serial killer,” Roy points out mildly. He’s lucky Ed likes him so much, or Ed definitely would have just punched him to show him what violence really looks like. </p><p>“Special situation.” Ed grins. </p><p>Roy snorts. He clearly doesn’t believe that for a second, but he lets it be anyways. Smart guy. “I’ve been wondering. How did you create that counter?” </p><p>Ed frowns. “If you want a full rundown, you should probably talk to Al. He’ll do a better job explaining than I do.” Roy can usually follow his reasoning just fine, but that’s for classic Amestrian alchemy, not Xerxian-esque arrays with weird alkahestral stuff thrown in. Al is better at explaining the foundational differences, which is mostly because he was actually able to <i>get</i> the dragon’s pulse eventually, and Ed still doesn’t know how on earth you ‘feel the life energy flowing.’  </p><p>“That’s not what I— actually,” Roy pauses, “I would like that, though I doubt your brother will want to give <i>me</i> an explanation. In any case, what I meant was: how did you create a counter without the original?” </p><p>“Oh,” Ed says, feeling a bit guilty for he’s about to do to Jean, “so you know how Jean has access to classified documents?” </p><p>Roy blinks. “Please don’t tell me you’re saying what I think you’re saying.” </p><p>“You shouldn’t arrest him!” Ed says frantically, unable to read the inscrutable look Roy is giving him. “He’s just way more scared of me and Al than he is of you!” </p><p>“I’m not going to arrest him.” A smirk grows at the edges of his mouth. “I have a better idea.” </p><p>Ed looks at him for a moment. “Sometimes I forget that you’re a weird sadist.” </p><p>“I resent that,” Roy says, but he doesn’t look like it. </p><p>Ed frowns. “Should I be worried? Do I need to send his mom flowers for my condolences?” </p><p>Roy snorts. “I don’t know, do you?” </p><p>Ed groans. “Just tell me what you’re going to do to him.” </p><p>Roy smirks. He probably gets off on being evasive. It’s probably why he went into politics in the first place. “I’m going to send him to recruit your teacher.” </p><p>“No,” Ed says with growing horror, “she’ll eat him alive.” </p><p>“I hope so.” Roy smirks. </p><p>“Are you trying to hurt him?” </p><p>“I’d rather he didn’t get maimed, if that matters,” Roy says in the tone that means ‘I am evil and loving it,’ “Then I’d have to give him worker’s comp. and that seems like a bother.” </p><p>“Teacher was right,” Ed mutters, “you people really are soulless.” </p><p>“That’s a bit harsh.” Roy pouts, which somehow just skates the edge between utterly ridiculous and kind of cute. Unfortunately for him, it has absolutely no affect on Ed because he’d grown up with Al. Immunity by exposure. Suck on that, Mustang. </p><p>“You suck,” Ed tells him, offhand.  </p><p>Roy smirks, opening his mouth. </p><p>“NO!” Ed shouts. “I know what you were going to say, and NO!” </p><p>“You can’t empirically prove—” Roy starts, which is all the proof Ed needs. </p><p>He huffs. “I’m going to go call Al.” </p><p>Roy frowns, confused. </p><p>Ed rolls his eyes. “I wanna see if he and Winry have finally stopped being stupid.” He finds the phone in the kitchen and dials his and Al’s number. It takes Al a minute and a half longer than usual to pick up, so Ed is already counting that as a win. </p><p>“Elric residence.” Al’s voice sounds rough. </p><p>Ed just barely manages to keep himself from cackling. “So, uh, Al. How’s Winry?” </p><p>Even over the phone, Ed can tell that Al is turning as red as a tomato.  </p><p>“Ack! Ed! Shut up!” </p><p>This time, Ed doesn’t stop himself from cackling. “Congrats,” he says, “have fun, wear a condom.” </p><p>“Shut. Up.” Al groans. “We weren’t—” </p><p>Ed snorts. “Have fun doing whatever it is you want, then. I’m going to go have sex with my boyfriend.” </p><p>“Ed!” Al screeches. </p><p>Ed hangs up just as Roy pads into the kitchen, barefoot with his uniform jacket off. </p><p>“What was this I heard about sex?” He rests his hands on Ed’s hips, and despite their warmth, Ed shivers.  </p><p>“Bed or table?” Ed asks, knowing that it’s going to be a stretch for them to even make it to the bed, what with the inevitable making out and groping in the hallway and up the stairs. </p><p>“Table,” Roy murmurs, mouth going down to suck a bruise into Ed’s neck, “but you’re disinfecting it.” </p><p>Ed groans, both at the prospect of having to both to disinfect the table, and at the feeling of Roy’s hot mouth on his cold neck. Roy chuckles at his groan, somehow infuriatingly hot as he does it, and Ed feels a strong wave of desperate affection run through him.  </p><p>Roy is just... warm, and clever, and entertaining, and <i>there</i>. Maybe not he’s not good— not in the grand scheme of things, if you’re weighing his deeds against a feather of truth— but he’s not bad either. He’s human, and he’s human in the sort of way that works with Ed, slotting into place like a puzzle piece. They <i>work</i> together. </p><p>Ed doesn’t make a habit of expressing his emotions in words (and no, fuck off, it’s not because he’s bad at it), it’s just... why say something when you can show it? But Roy looks tired— too tired— in a way that’s bone deep, like the exhaustion has sunk its way into his bones and cartilage and is dragging him down with every step. And sure, okay, Roy tends to get clingy when he’s anxious, and Ed is totally fine indulging that so long as he doesn’t get in the way, but suddenly just giving him a hug doesn’t feel like enough. </p><p>“I like you,” Ed says, finally, “a lot.” </p><p>Roy smiles, eyes dark and warm and tired and a little bit sad, but mostly just full of a vast, endless, amalgam of emotions too deep and too terrifying for words. “I like you a lot too.” </p><p>Ed smiles, and kisses him gently, fiercely, with the same unending, inevitable, amalgam in his heart. </p><p>They don’t even make it to the table.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Still can't believe that the main plot point for this is just<br/>Ed: *does something incredibly difficult*<br/>Roy: :o<br/>Ed: what like it's hard?</p><p>Is Scar's appearance chronologically incongruent? Yes. Will I claim AU bullshit just so it can happen? Also yes.</p><p>I know in canon Roy's general attitude toward's Ed's safety is 'I feel bad for the other guy’ (and he’s right) but in this universe he doesn't know that Ed is <i>more</i> than capable of taking care of himself, hence the freaking out.</p><p> </p><p>As always, comments are incredibly appreciated, kudos are lovely and concrit will be Well Received.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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